


Careful What You Ask For

by jedi_penguin



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/F, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_penguin/pseuds/jedi_penguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before his infarction, House never believed that love and manipulation had anything to do with each other.  He knows better now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careful What You Ask For

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the , prompt #55:
> 
> Cuddy/Stacy/House: atonement, during House's recovery post-infarction.

_”One caveat: I've moved past threesomes. I'm now into foursomes.”_ \-- **”The Mistake”**

 

She’d do anything for absolution.

She’s never asked for forgiveness and somehow House knows that she never will, but she craves it anyway. He can see the desire for it in her eyes, can hear it in her tears and can damn near feel it coming out of her pores. There is nothing Stacy wouldn’t give him to put them back where they were before the infarction: no fantasy she wouldn’t fulfill, no humiliation she wouldn’t suffer for his sake.

House wonders how he can use this.

This line of thought would have been impossible for him a month ago. He wasn’t above plotting to steal her pillow or scheming for the last cold beer, but he’d never used their relationship for his own benefit. The thought of getting without giving had never occurred to him. In his innocence, he’d believed that that wasn’t what love was about.

He knows better now. Love is about manipulation. The more you love somebody, the easier it is to convince yourself that all your actions are in your lover’s best interest. He wants you to be happy, so if you make yourself happy, then he must be happy too.

Yeah, he’s real fucking happy with Stacy’s decision. Perhaps it’s time for him to make Stacy happy for a change.

She feels his eyes on her—he knows that she does—but she doesn’t look up until the doctor comes in. He assumes at first that Stacy focuses on the doctor so that she can forget about him for a half hour or so, but he soon decides that that isn’t the case at all. The doctor isn’t a means to escape House’s glower, but rather an end in herself. Clearly, his lover and his physician became BFFs during the course of his coma. He wonders if all women become best buddies when they team up to fuck up a man’s life or whether there’s something else drawing them together. Mostly, though, he wonders how he can turn this friendship to his advantage.

It’s his first check up visit since his discharge from the hospital. Oddly enough, he wasn’t actually sure what to expect; he’s always had his underlings handle the routine stuff for him. Even before he had fellows to do his busy work, he had nurses. When he was an intern, he had students. When he was a student himself, he was good at hiding. It’s odd to think that his own two-week check up may be his very first follow-up visit, but it’s quite possible that it is.

Judging by this visit, he hasn’t been missing anything. The doctor goes on and on and fucking on. House suspects that she’ll never shut up. In fact, if he had to guess, he’d postulate that her guilt over his shitty care is so over the top that she’ll continue asking questions about his health until he drops dead of boredom. He hopes he’ll die quickly.

Stacy, on the other hand, is fascinated by the doctor. She listens intently to every instruction and thoughtfully answers every question. If House were a better person, he supposes he’d be grateful for her concern and care.

The doctor seems uncomfortable with his evident disinterest, but bravely continues on for Stacy’s benefit. She’s a wimp. If it were him, he would have jumped on the table to get his patient’s attention ten minutes ago. Back when he could still jump.

House waits until the doctor asks her get-the-hell-out-of-there open-ended question. “So, do you have any other concerns?”

Stacy smiles. “No, I think you’ve covered everyth—“

“Yes. I have a concern. A big one.”

Both women turn to House in surprise. The doctor’s surprised look quickly turns to one of alarm; Stacy’s to one of suspicion. House smiles nastily and Stacy rolls her eyes, already certain that she won’t like what’s coming.

“I haven’t gotten off since my leg started hurting,” he informs them.

Stacy glares at him, but the doctor just seemed confused. “You haven’t, uh…”

“Gotten off.” House says as earnestly as he can. “You know… shot my stuff? I believe the medical term is e-jac-u-la-tion.”

“Um, I’m not sure what… you… want?“

The doctor is baffled and uncomfortable. Just the way House wants her. He tries even harder to look disingenuous. Stacy can see right through this look, but the doctor barely knows him and is eating it up. “Look. I’m not exactly an S&M posterboy. I only wear leather when I’m riding my motorcycle and I don’t get off on pain.” He waves his hand between himself and a now pissed-off Stacy. “We can’t seem to find any position that doesn’t leave me in too much agony to get off. I was wondering whether you could help me with that.”

“Uh… certainly.” She puts on a professional mask, trying to prove that she’s unflappable when she’s clearly not. The insecurity that shows assures House that he’s going to get what he wants. “There are several sex experts that the hospital keeps under contract. I’ll conta—“

“Uh-uh. I want **you** to help.”

“Ahhh, I’d be happy to,” she lies. “What help do you think I can offer?”

“Watching girl-on-girl action always used to do the trick, back before Stacy moved in and threw all my porn away.” Stacy’s beyond glaring now. She’s just zoning into space with her lips pursed tightly. “Watching Stacy with another woman—say, I dunno, **you** \--would probably do it.”

Stacy’s staring at him **now** ; they both are. He concentrates on looking innocent, like he has no idea whatsoever that he’s just said something inappropriate.

Stacy’s the one to break the long silence, as he’d known she would be. “Greg! You can’t ask Lisa to get **that** involved in your recovery!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. What was I thinking?” He suddenly drops the innocent expression, showing them all the malice he’s been storing up ever since he woke up. “It’s not like she went against my express wishes the second I fell into a coma. Why should _Lisa_ have any personal interest in my recovery?”

“Damnit, Greg, that’s not fair! **I** had the medical proxy. You can’t—“

“I’ll do it.”

House and Stacy both look at the doctor. She looks confident, and House begins to wonder whether he’s misjudged her. Either she has more of a backbone than he gave her credit for, or something’s changed for her. He guesses that it’s the mention of her culpability for his condition that did it, that she has an over-developed sense of guilt. He files that information away for future use.

Stacy must be thinking along the same lines, because she’s not happy with the doctor’s sudden declaration. “No! You’re not doing this.”

The doctor smiles sadly. “I knew what Dr. House wanted and I ignored it. If that decision had any part in reducing his quality of life, then I have a responsibility to make amends.”

“That’s bullshit, Lisa! You gave me the medical options; **I** was the one who chose the procedure. Once I decided—and **I** decided, **not** you--you were legally obligated to follow my dictates on the matter. You have **nothing** to make amends for.”

The doctor doesn’t say anything to that, just shrugs and gives Stacy a look that he doesn’t have a hope in hell of deciphering. Stacy gets it, however, because she suddenly blushes and mutters, “Fine. Great. Peachy.” She turns to him, still pissed off but the irritation is mixed in with something else now, something indefinable. Expectation, maybe? He prides himself on his ability to read Stacy, but he has no idea what she’s thinking now. He doesn’t get a chance to figure it out before she growls, “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he grunts. He’s lying. He **should** be happy—he’s gotten what he wanted after all—but he isn’t. There’s something going on here, something he’s missing. Normally he loves mysteries, but he doesn’t like them when they relate to Stacy. He knows her, **gets** her, and he’s not comfortable with the thought that she’s working on her own agenda. The last time she did that, he wound up crippled. House loves Stacy, but he no longer trusts her to operate outside his expectations.

For a second, he wonders whether he should call off the whole thing. He doesn’t (because what sort of idiot turns down a threesome? Especially one with no other men?), but he does decide that he needs to get the hell out of there. “I’ll let you two iron out the details,” he says carelessly. “I have to pee.”

He leaves as quickly as he can in his walker. Fuck, but he longs for the day that he can graduate up to a cane and leave this geriatric garbage behind. Cripples on canes are pathetic, but at least they’re better than weenies on walkers.

~*~*~*~

Stacy’s a decent enough cook, but she seems to think that _decent_ isn’t good enough for their new friend. While he’s the last man on earth to ever say no to puttanesca from Café Spilleto, House isn’t sure he’s comfortable with the implications. This is supposed to be all about him, about Stacy and the doctor giving something back to him after taking away so much. The puttanesca suggests that Stacy has a different view of the evening.

When the doctor shows up, House has to admit that she’s gorgeous. She’s got a low-cut red dress that she fills out perfectly. He’s never really considered her as a woman before. Never paid attention to her appearance at all, actually, and now he wonders why. He still prefers the shape of Stacy’s face and her long straight hair, but there’s no question that it’s his doctor who has the knockout body.

House has never been one for social kisses, but then again, he’s never been one for orgies before either. He figures new events call for new behaviors, so he kisses her on the cheek and tells her he’s happy she could come. She looks nervous until he calls her “Lisa,” and that makes her smile.

Stacy comes out of the bathroom and his jaw drops. She’s never looked better. The dress is… nice—nothing special—but her makeup is perfect and her hair is shining. He doesn’t think she’s put that much care into her appearance for over a year. And why should she? He’s a known quantity; Lisa is new.

Once again, it occurs to House that he and Stacy might be at cross-purposes tonight. He scowls at the thought, but Stacy and his doctor are too engrossed in each other to notice him at all.

Whose idea was this again?

Dinner is good and not nearly as uncomfortable as he’d assumed it would be. Lisa and Stacy keep up a steady flow of conversation, and he realizes that his doctor has come over for a date instead of a booty call. He regrets leaving Stacy to make the arrangements; he would have kept things far more clinical. (Of course, if he’d arranged it, Lisa never would have agreed to this whatever they have, so maybe it really is for the best.)

Lisa tells Stacy that he was a TA for one of her classes in college. “I loved it whenever the professor was out; Greg was a terrific lecturer.”

He shrugs. “You were a terrific student.”

She looks at him oddly. “You told me during your interview that you didn’t remember me from college.”

“I was just trying to stem off any talk about _auld lang syne_ ,” he tells her. He’s lying. He really doesn’t remember her, but he figures that’s not what you tell a woman right before you sleep with her. Or before you watch her have sex with your girlfriend.

“I had a helluva crush on you, you know.”

House smirks. “Most of the female students did. Some of the male ones too,” he adds thoughtfully.

Stacy glares at him. “You don’t need to prop up his ego, Lisa. It’s healthy enough as it is.”

“It’s true, though.” House smirks again and Lisa blushes a bit. “I mean, I don’t know about the other students, but I never missed one of his lacrosse games. I even used to plan my study breaks around his practices.” She looks wistful all of a sudden, and House wonders whether she’s about to tell them that he crushed her fragile little heart with his cruel neglect. What she actually says is worse. “The way he ran around that field, his speed and grace; he was like a god. Magnificent, really.”

If she gets bogged down on everything he lost, of everything she and Stacy cost him, he’s going over to Wilson’s. Yes, he wants her to feel guilty, but she doesn’t need to **wallow** for God’s sake. This evening is supposed to be fun. So he lies to her again. “I had to impress the groupies, “he says. “Especially the ones with big boobs. Honestly, I sucked whenever you weren’t there.”

Her eyes shine at his little fairy tale, which should make him feel like a shit, but doesn’t. He never used to lie to his sexual partners. He might lie **about** them, but never to them. Of course, that was before Stacy and Lisa cut out half his leg muscles and taught him what love was really about. Honesty has no place in matters of the heart and even less in matters of the flesh. He’s glad he’s finally figured this out.

He’s still mulling over the relationship between lies and love and sex when the conversation sputters out. Stacy jumps up before the silence has a chance to get awkward and begins clearing the table. Lisa gathers up the wine glasses and follows her into the kitchen.

He sits there staring at the last of the dishes for two or three minutes before it occurs to him that they aren’t coming back. He pushes himself up and goes into the kitchen as silently as he can. It’s not easy now that his mobility is so limited, but he really wants to know whatever it is they don’t want him to hear.

He needn’t have worried about alerting them with his walker. In fact, House doubts that they would notice if seventy-six fucking trombones came strolling through the kitchen.

Stacy has Lisa sandwiched between her body and the sink. They’re not kissing, no, they’re **devouring** each other. It occurs to House with an unexpected stab of jealousy that Stacy hasn’t kissed him like that in years.

Lisa has pulled Stacy’s dress up, revealing lacy green panties. **New** panties, even though she has a larger collection of lacy things than any woman he’s ever dated. He can’t remember the last time Stacy bought new lingerie for his benefit, and it’s getting more and more difficult convincing himself that this evening really is all about him. Hell, he doubts it’s even tangentially about him any longer.

Despite his growing conviction that this evening was a fucking stupid idea, House has to admit that it’s doing exactly what he thought it would do: it is giving him one **hell** of an erection. Watching the woman he loves making out with somebody else won’t make him happy, but it will get him off. He wonders why he thought that was so goddamned important a few hours ago.

He watches for a minute or two before he decides he can’t stand it any longer. He taps Stacy on the shoulder and coughs loudly. “My leg is killing me, here. Any chance we can move this to the bedroom?”

Lisa blushes prettily, embarrassed to be caught by House, and he’s charmed in spite of himself. He leans over Stacy’s shoulder to plant a quick and chaste kiss on her swollen lips. She parts for him, inviting him in, but he has an irrational fear that she’ll taste like Stacy. This may have been his idea, but he’s not okay enough with the reality to risk exposure to second-hand Stacy.

Stacy puckers up to get a kiss of her own, but the ardent look in her eyes unnerves him. He’s not sure he likes seeing it when he didn’t put it there. Caught between that old fuck or flee instinct, he compromises by brushing his lips lightly against her forehead. She frowns at the uncharacteristic action and he turns away before she sees more than he wants her to.

Lisa must sense the tension between them, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she reaches for Stacy’s hand and tugs her out of the kitchen. House shuffles behind.

They’re on the bed before he even reaches the bedroom door. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or irritated to discover that they’re still dressed.

He avoids the bed, going to the over-sized stuffed chair that Stacy moved into the bedroom after he came home from the hospital. He drops his pants defiantly, refusing to feel embarrassed about his leg. Yes, it’s raw and red and ugly, but these two women are responsible for its appearance and he wants them to see it. He wants them to remember that this evening is supposed to be about the absolution that they both want.

Lisa doesn’t get it. She stares at him compassionately, unaware that he hates that worse than elevator music. Stacy’s known him a lot longer, so she silently rises and goes to turn the heat up. He’s grateful, for the warmth and for the care, but mostly for way she way she doesn’t draw attention to either of them. He decides he needs to give her a break for a change, and shoots her a heart-felt smile.

He wonders if that is the first genuine smile that he’s given her since he woke up from his coma. He doesn’t think so, but the way she’s blooming makes him think that maybe it is. She comes back to bed and pulls Lisa in for a giddy, happy kiss. Lisa’s startled but catches on quickly, and they’re soon back to where they were in the kitchen.

Stacy and Lisa fall down on the bed, and it’s impossible to determine who pushed whom. Lisa places both hands on Stacy’s ass and doesn’t let go. House suspects that she’s trying to hold Stacy in place, but he knows that it’s a hopeless cause. Whenever Stacy’s turned on she becomes kinetic, incapable of staying still or keeping her hands to herself. Right now, she’s running her hands all over Lisa’s body, up down front back and everywhere. He knows what it’s like to have Stacy’s restless energy directed at him, but he’s never stopped to consider what it would look like to an outside observer before. It looks pretty damn hot, actually.

He starts to count to ten but only makes it to eight before Stacy tears her mouth away from Lisa’s and begins moving south. She trails her tongue down Lisa’s throat until she reaches the cleavage so magnificently framed by Lisa’s low-cut dress. Stacy’s black hair looks more beautiful than ever, splayed out as it is on Lisa’s wine-red dress. He surprises himself by hoping that Lisa will keep her dress on for a while.

Stacy isn’t as enamored of Lisa’s outfit as he is. She loves the feel of skin on skin—which has always worked to his benefit in the past—and it doesn’t take long before she’s scooting the hem of Lisa’s dress up. It gets twisted in the sheets, so Lisa sits up to lift her dress over her head. Stacy quickly follows suit.

Stacy’s bra matches her panties, as he’d known that it would. Both are hunter green and have more lace than actual material. Lisa doesn’t match, going with a ridiculously skimpy ruby thong and a highly practical white bra. He smiles indulgently at the dichotomy.

Stacy trails her hand down Lisa’s side, but the other woman squirms away with a muttered, “Ticklish.” Stacy laughs and pulls Lisa in for a passionate kiss. They fall on their sides and Stacy turns back into a perpetual motion machine. Back, butt, thighs, hair, tummy, and breasts: Stacy’s hands are everywhere, lingering nowhere.

He watches intently, mesmerized by this alternate view of Stacy. Oh yeah, he’s definitely going to come tonight.

He would have bet money that Stacy would be the first to up the stakes—she didn’t become a lawyer for her retiring personality, after all—but it’s Lisa who reaches behind Stacy and unhooks her bra. As many times as he’s seen Stacy’s breasts, he still admires the view. It’s obvious that Lisa does as well.

It’s… odd, witnessing somebody else discover Stacy’s body. House knows his girlfriend’s body better than he knows his own, from the freckle on her left breast (apparently acquired back when she wore more daring bikinis than he’s ever seen her wear), to the small chickenpox scar in her cleavage. Her right nipple is inverted even though the left one is popped out; as a doctor, he knows this is unremarkable, and yet he’s always been fascinated by this idiosyncrasy. He watches Lisa discover these little quirks, and it’s like he’s seeing them all for the first time again. It’s sexy and disconcerting at the same time.

By the time Lisa begins sucking on Stacy’s breast, he’s painfully hard. He could jack himself off right now and consider it a well-spent evening, but he wants to wait until at least one—preferably both—of the women come. Judging by the way Lisa is tugging at Stacy’s panties, House suspects they won’t make him wait too long.

Stacy is all the woman he wants and has been from the moment she splattered paint over his favorite pair of jeans, but he still wants to see Lisa. He’s about to croak out a demand that she remove her underwear, when Stacy gives a low, throaty chuckle. “You seem to be overdressed for the occasion, Lisa,” she purrs.

Lisa says nothing, just grins, sits up to unsnaps her bra, and then flops back down. They both slither out of their panties and go back to kissing. There’s an urgency between them that puts House on edge. Does Stacy look like that with him, that desperate for his touch? He thinks she does, but he’s not sure. He’s not used to feeling uncertain about Stacy, and the insecurity in the room feels more foreign than Lisa. It’s new, and the newness is intoxicating. He can’t decide whether he’s more turned on or terrified, and isn’t even sure if it’s possible to separate the two emotions.

While he’s trying to figure things out, Lisa is wasting no time. She brings her hand down to Stacy’s vagina, or at least he assumes that’s what she’s doing. Her body is blocking his view, but that’s okay. He’s been studying Stacy’s reactions for years, and they tell him everything he needs to know. It’s fascinating, watching reactions that he hasn’t caused.

Stacy’s squirming, which means that Lisa’s teasing her. She’s caressing Stacy’s thighs or playing with her pubic hair, or maybe she’s just missing the sweet spot by accident. House knows the second Lisa brushes Stacy’s clit because she bites her bottom lip. She’s tense and waiting, turned on but not yet out of her mind with need. Ah, there she goes, bucking upwards in pure animal abandon; he knows that Lisa has discovered the gentle but firm circular pattern that Stacy likes. God, he loves to see her like that.

Stacy’s close, **so** close, and he isn’t far behind. Somehow he gets so involved with seeing Stacy from this new vantage point that he misses the moment that Lisa starts fucking Stacy with her fingers. He doesn’t miss it when Stacy comes, however; he can’t imagine ever missing that. Her body goes rigid and her breath stops in a moment that seems to last forever. She always comes like that, filling the room with her utter silence. He can hear the absence of sound from across the room. His cock knows that screaming silence as well as he does and responds with an involuntary twitch.

He knows what Lisa’s feeling right now. Stacy’s internal muscles are fluttering and contracting around Lisa’s fingers, and he can’t imagine that it isn’t turning her on. For himself, his cock twitches again at the memory and he can’t hold off touching himself any longer. He doesn’t stroke or pull because he **really** wants to wait for Lisa if he can, but he does enfold himself with both hands, trying to simulate Stacy’s welcoming warmth.

He and Lisa both wait for Stacy to ride out her orgasm. It happens quickly, so he knows that she’s going to come again tonight. She decides to wait for it, however, crawling down the bed to eat Lisa out.

Even from across the room, House can see Lisa tense up. “You don’t—“

“Relax,” Stacy purrs. “You’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Lisa admits with an uncomfortable laugh. “But you don’t have to, you know. I mean, I didn’t and—“

Stacy chuckles, low and dirty. She needs to stop that, or there’s no way he can follow the “ladies first” rule. “It’s fine,” Stacy assures her. “Like I told you, my last serious relationship before Greg was with a woman. I know what I’m doing.”

House is surprised that Stacy gave out her sexual history so easily. They’d been living together for almost a month before she’d shared that particular tidbit with him. He can’t imagine how this candidness came about and again he regrets leaving the room when Stacy set the ground rules with Lisa.

Still, the conversation must have been useful because Lisa seems reassured. She lies flat, giving House his first unobstructed view of her body. It’s magnificent. Better than Stacy’s, actually, though he hates to admit it.

Lisa’s breasts are full and perfectly shaped. Much more than a handful and none of it wasted (no matter what he may have told small-chested girlfriends in the past). He knows that it’s tritely Shakespearean to say so, but her breasts are milk-colored and absolutely flawless. House is baffled and even a bit intimidated by Lisa’s perfection. She should be in a Bottacelli painting, not sprawled out across his bed.

Lisa may be in his bed, but she’s definitely not thinking about him at the moment. While he sat mesmerized by Lisa’s perfect body, Stacy’s been busy. Lisa’s bucking now, thrusting her pussy into Stacy’s face. He’s not surprised; Stacy has an enormously talented tongue.

Thinking about Stacy’s tongue causes his dick to twitch again. He can’t help but think that Stacy has probably been missing this, the opportunity to explore hidden depths instead of being limited to the external and the obvious. Not that Stacy’s as addicted to mysteries as he is; no, her quirk is that she never likes things to be easy. (He guesses she wouldn’t be with him if she did.) Stacy’s a big believer in “be happy in your work,” and nowhere more so than in her sex life.

Not that Lisa’s proving to be much of a challenge tonight. She's already on the edge, or so he guesses from her loud groaning. He’s normally not one for noisy women, but Lisa might be the one to change his mind about that. Every time she makes a noise deep in her throat, he feels the vibrations in his dick. It’s new and it’s nice.

He’s never seen Lisa come before, but he knows when she does. She goes straight as a board (not coincidentally throwing her perfect breasts into perfect relief) and lets out a long low “Stuh---“ which is presumably short for “Stacy.”

He’s pleased that Lisa didn’t manage a full name. He doesn’t trust people who remain coherent during sex. If a woman can remember her own name—much less his—then he hasn’t done his job correctly. More importantly, she hasn’t done **her** part by telling him what she needs and he’s not interested in dishonest partners. If Lisa can be this open when it’s not only her first time with them but also her first time with a woman, he thinks she’ll make a perfect addition to their bed.

Now that Stacy and Lisa have both orgasmed, he figures it’s his turn. He begins stroking himself with a firm deliberation. He’s achingly hard and doubts it will take very long to get himself off. Part of him hates to see the evening come to an end, but he’s not sure he can take much more stimulation.

Lisa changes her mind about going down on Stacy, so neither woman notices when he begins jacking himself off. He’s a bit annoyed by their indifference, but deliberately shoves the feeling aside. Now’s not the time to think about petty annoyances.

He’s never been in the proper position to see Stacy’s face when he’s down on her, but he still knows exactly when Lisa’s thrusts her tongue inside Stacy’s pussy. The look of bliss on her face is unmistakable and he’s glad for the chance to see it. He can’t wait for his next opportunity to lap her up, now that he knows what she’ll look like.

Lisa lets out a hum of appreciation, and that’s it for him. He loves the way Stacy tastes and has never been able to get enough of her; knowing that Lisa feels the same way is the ultimate turn-on. So many ways to appreciate Stacy, all open to him now. And then there’s Lisa, a new factor and yet not so new after tonight.

That last realization triggers his orgasm. Masturbation has never been this intense and powerful for him before. He spurts stream after stream into his hand, each thrust more mind-blowing than the last.

He thinks he might pass out from the intensity. Or maybe he’ll skip unconsciousness and go straight to a heart attack. Nobody could blame a forty-something guy for blowing a gasket during a threesome and he’s sure that he’ll never find a better way to go. Besides, the EMT guys would be impressed.

He finally runs out of sperm, thankfully **before** he has a heart attack. (Though he can’t swear that he didn’t pass out for a moment or two. He doesn’t think he did, but he might have.) When his heartbeat finally returns to normal, he turns towards the bed with a goofy smile on his face.

They’re oblivious.

Not only did they not notice or care that he’s joined them in bliss, he’s not certain that they even remembered that he was in the room. Nothing exists for them except each other; he’s fucking invisible.

House has the least fragile ego of any male he’s ever met, but this realization deflates him. And then he gets pissed off.

This was supposed to be his fantasy. **His**! He can’t imagine how they missed the memo on that. They fucked him over and he agreed to forgive them if they did this for him. **For him**. It wasn’t supposed to be about **them**. Ever.

Lisa and Stacy are snuggled so close that it’s impossible to tell whose limbs belong to whom. Their black locks flow together, creating one mane of gorgeous darkness. They look beautiful there and utterly untouchable.

Not that he wants to. Not any longer. Fuck ‘em.

House stares at them as they drift off to sleep. There’s a closeness there that has nothing to do with him and it isn’t right. This evening was supposed to be about Stacy and Lisa searching for absolution; instead, they’ve found each other. Or maybe they found each other weeks ago and were fucking the entire time he was in the hospital.

No, that’s not true and he knows it, but he also knows that they **wanted** each other then. There’s no other explanation for Lisa’s easy acceptance to his outrageous proposal, to the pleasant dinner conversation or Stacy’s new underwear set. It certainly explains why they look so comfortable there, so happy in their togetherness.

As long as he’s being honest with himself, he should acknowledge that he isn’t completely shut out of their warmth. They’d let him in if he asked, but he isn’t going to. It’s always going to be **their** closeness, and he’ll always be the charity case.

Fuck that.

He decides to sleep in the chair.

~*~*~*~

He’s a bastard in the morning. They both think it’s because he’s stiff and in pain from sleeping in the chair—and he is—but it’s more than that. He needs to be as big an ass as he possibly can, to ensure the previous evening is NEVER repeated.

He never again shows Lisa the same respect he did before by calling her by her title, and he sure as hell doesn’t call her “Lisa.” He calls her “Cuddy” and packs as much contempt into the two syllables as he can. She retaliates by calling him “House” and making occasional jokes about him being a cripple.

It’s not enough. House begins to make comments about her breasts as often as he can, simultaneously reminding her that he’s seen them and ensuring that she never wants to show them to him again. He figures that the more he propositions her, the less likely it is that she’ll again cross his doorsill in search of sex.

He never lets up on Stacy. He knows she gets the point when she switches from menthols to light cigarettes. He still doesn’t mention her smoking, especially when she begins sneaking away for a light eight or nine times a day. She’s miserable and he’s sorry for that, but he doesn’t want her feeling comfortable enough to ask Lisa back. He’ll drive her away before he allows that to happen.

Stacy starts screaming during sex. He’s not sure if she does it to remind herself of the noises that filled their bedroom when Lisa was there, or simply because she knows that he doesn’t like it. Or maybe it’s her way of letting him know that he isn’t getting her off…as if he didn’t know that already. Eventually he stops trying.

He’s not sure why he’s so upset by the idea that he, Stacy and Lisa could be happy together. House honestly likes Lisa and he loves Stacy; theoretically, they could work. In reality, it’ll never happen. Deep down, he doesn’t want Stacy to be happy. He doesn’t want to forgive her and he doesn’t want her to feel forgiven.

He guesses that level of vindictiveness makes him a person who doesn’t deserve happiness anyway. He wonders what it says about him that he’s all right with that judgment.

Perhaps he’s the one who needs absolution. Pity he doesn’t want it.

THE END


End file.
